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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27601598">Amarth - Downfall</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruiniel/pseuds/Ruiniel'>Ruiniel</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works &amp; Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adventure &amp; Romance, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Corruption, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Fornost, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Breakdown, Psychological Horror, Slow Romance, Smut, The Lord of the Rings References, Third Age, War of the Ring</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:06:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>18,107</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27601598</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruiniel/pseuds/Ruiniel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She is the daughter of the Elvenking. He is a revered Balrog slayer, tainted by a growing shadow. When they meet, values and histories collide. There is a Witch-king, and a Dark Lord. Can Glorfindel defeat that which is threatening to consume him? A story spanning across the events of the Third Age, from the Battle of Fornost to the Pelennor Fields. Glorfindel/OC</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Glorfindel (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Fornost - Allies old and new</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello unsuspecting reader,</p><p>Here's yet another Glorfindel fic.</p><p>This story is a collaborative effort with the awesome Tobiramamara. This is how it goes: we both use the same outline of events, main canon characters, and OC. We follow the same plotline, but our stories will each have a different direction and, ultimately, ending. Just thought it would be a fun project to see where we each go with the same story. Be sure to follow that version too, if interested to join our ride!</p><p>The twin story to this is: 'Amarth - Rising' by Tobiramamara.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>TA 1975</em>
</p><p>A weakened sun westered red beyond the hidden vale. Dying light fell on the white walls and many-layered roofs of a settlement, sheltered at the foothills of the Misty Mountains. Late autumn birdsong rose in the air above the icy waters of the river Bruinen, reaching through the windows of a currently empty Hall of Fire.</p><p>Empty, but for one presence. He was clad for travel and currently gazing at the changing hues in the skies. Anyone watching could not have guessed this was one heading to a ceremonial welcome. But he cared little for appearances lately, though Glorfindel of Gondolin had known vanity once. Now he was reluctant in the face of deference and respect freely offered by most of those encountered in his path. He had no need of either, nor did he welcome the gaping looks and lingering stares from those unaccustomed to him. But even those affected him little though he knew the signs by now; no matter the stern way he treated his men during training or the perceived aloofness of his manner in command. Much of this well-meant but overbearing honor was owed to his deeds, past and present; to the way he listened and sought to aid any in need, at times offering strange but workable solutions to even stranger predicaments.</p><p>Moments like this were sparse. Fragments of solitude, to reflect and to think. The Elf-lord had long denounced the Ñoldorin propensity for crafted brilliance in favor of a plain, near austere lifestyle. Now he stood cloaked and garbed for scouting - a plain surcoat and trousers, tall dark boots. His hair trapped the last rays peeking through the chamber as he turned from the window; his eyebrows furrowed as other thoughts emerged and mingled together.</p><p>Círdan of the Havens had sent word from Lindon recently, and now Imladris was in the midst of preparations to support yet another war. As often happened with memories and scars, Glorfindel was taken back to another time, and a different battle; the very same foe. Many were lost, more than they could spare. He knew this well for, after all, he had been there. But time churned on, and another Age had begun since. He looked to his feet, and saw his boots stained crimson to his ankles, sinking in the mires of Mordor.</p><p>He blinked. It was gone. Yes, the very same enemy. Now, the realm of Angmar dogged the Northern lands of Arnor, its ruler leading errands for one other. A puppet master, yet concealed from them. It was only the year prior by the reckoning of Men that Fornost, the capital of the last free kingdom in the North, fell to the armies of the one many called the Witch-king. Deemed the main affliction, so to speak, of the peoples dwelling in Arnor, he was tireless - and most worryingly, a master strategist who knew war. But now Men finally sought to regain dominion of the Northern kingdoms and their ancestral lands. A great host had been dispatched from Gondor, led by the driven prince Eärnur, to honor an old alliance. Glorfindel shook his head as he stood close to the simmering hearth. A double-edged sword, honor - a conclusion drawn from his hardest trial in the First Age of the world, when he paid for his choice with his life. And for all the healing slumber at the feet of Mandos, there were rare moments when the fires and the abyss still beckoned. The Elf habitually brought a hand to his neck just as the brief, burning sensation of a whip subsided.</p><p>A sigh. <em>Perhaps I am getting too old for this. </em>He smiled to himself, catching the pride in his thought. Deep down, he did not feel old at all, and if nothing else, he still had his mission. The Powers guided him yet, when the need was great. Though truth be told, the Valar had become rather quiet of late. Glorfindel shook the doubt away. It did not matter. The House of Elrond Half-elven was home, and he would serve until his goal in Endor was reached.</p><p>"My lord," a voice broke into his drifting notions. Golden light fell on black hair and a sharp, grey stare. He was of similar height to Glorfindel, also garbed for departure. "We have received word, they are near."</p><p>"Thank you, Elladan. Your brother?" the Elf-lord asked as he neared the newcomer, and they fell in step together.</p><p>The black-haired one scoffed. "Probably outside already, you know how he is."</p><p>Elrohir relished excitement as much as his twin brother avoided it. Glorfindel smiled at a sudden memory of them, small and thin, falling over each other, nearly lost in the frothing waters of the river. Fortunately, Glorfindel had been there, and while Elrohir was beaming at being rescued from their dangerous feat by the great Balrog slayer himself, his brother was deathly pale and seemed glad it was over. Glorfindel had watched them grow into warriors, had been there every step of the way. It could certainly be said he had a hand in raising them. There were few Glorfindel would trust more in matters of military planning and support, and the current endeavor was no exception. The two Elves had reached the courtyard where others waited or were preparing their mounts.</p><p>A mirror image of the one called Elladan greeted the two arrivals and joined them. "How many did you say they were bringing into the fold?" he asked, nodding in greeting to Glorfindel.</p><p>Glorfindel did not answer right away, but reached for his steed, patting its nose gently. "The missive spoke of eight hundred strong," he said offhandedly, fingers sifting through the silken mane.</p><p>Elrohir whistled musically, his shapely dark eyebrows raised in mock surprise. "More generous than one would ever expect of His Majesty," he groused drily.</p><p>"Elrohir," Glorfindel turned from Sírdal, his horse, and leveled the younger Elf with a tired frown. "While I appreciate your candor, let us try to keep the thread of our strategic alliance with the Woodland Realm from snapping. That effort includes not sowing interpretable notions about their king."</p><p>"You need not chastise," Elrohir gave a crooked grin, unbothered as yet as he deftly swung astride his mount. He knew when Glorfindel truly meant his warnings. "I am merely voicing what everyone else here is thinking. I wonder that he spared as many, but the greater surprise is that he sent any support at all."</p><p>It did not surprise Glorfindel. The twin sons of Elrond had not been born yet when in the late Second Age, he had seen another battle go awry. And lost in the mayhem was the silver-haired prince of Greenwood the Great, as his kingdom was called at the time, having recently lost his father Oropher for recklessness and disjointed planning. Glorfindel still saw Thranduil, young and battle-worn, unable to mourn with a crown thrust into his hands, leading a cold retreat. His renewed hatred for the Shadow had never been a hidden notion. He did not waver then; he did not waver now. Yes, deep within Glorfindel thought he knew why Thranduil had again chosen not to stand aside, though he very well could have. At any moment they expected the detachment of Silvan enforcements from Eryn Galen to reach them. This was good, Glorfindel thought, as it meant a timely start to the strategic alignment and planning needed before journeying to war-torn Arnor.</p><p>"You two, ride with me," Glorfindel addressed both brothers before mounting his steed, and the few others followed suit closely behind.</p><p>Over the restless river they sped, across the narrow stone bridge, their grey and white horses one with their riders. Their cloaks fluttered behind them, and strands of their hair strayed waywardly. They rode for nearly an hour before falling into a trot onto the forest road. Then, his hearing attuned to their surroundings, Glorfindel raised his arm, urging the group to a halt.</p><p>There was a flash of grey and green, and a figure dropped gracefully from the trees before the warrior's mount. "My lord," the scout reported in salute, "They are one league from our position."</p><p>So they were.</p><p>Glorfindel nodded, dismissing the scout who then easily returned to the high boughs.</p><p>They felt the hard ground shaking even from this distance under the brunt of feet and hooves. The troops were near. Glorfindel absently looked to the skies, bruised in shaded hues of purple. The Imladris party waited, quiet and still on the road cutting through the forest. Cold air breathed into the trees, layering the ground before them with crisp leaves.</p><p>There was a cloud of dust, rising higher and higher, and they discerned the movement and cadence of horses. And then came into view the first line of their allies.</p><p>"I was not told they revel in grand entrances," Elladan muttered jestingly beside Glorfindel.</p><p>The warrior leveled the son of Elrond Half-elven with a curt stare before hedging Sírdal forward, straight towards the approaching company.</p><p>The awaited soldiers of the Woodland Realm were clad in greens and browns, and fine chain mail of a copper sheen showed from beneath their light attire. Several dark and auburn heads could be discerned in the dim light. They moved in unison, with no flourish.</p><p>"No plate armor, no helms," Elrohir commented impartially, having reached Glorfindel in the meantime.</p><p>"Their way is different," the older Elf supplied, another brief image of the Last Alliance coming to mind. It was the silver head of Oropher King, drowning in enemies. The Silvans fought lightly, he remembered, unencumbered by the weight of heavy battle gear where most of their tactics and weapons required stealth and speed. But, again, this would be open war. Mistakes had been made, ones they would all do well to remember. In a rare spell of detached curiosity, Glorfindel wondered if Thranduil himself would come, though there had been no mention of this intent in the missives.</p><p>Elrohir sighed. "Not as different as to prevent collaboration, one would hope," he said as the others drew closer.</p><p>"I said <em>different</em>, not unruly," Glorfindel retorted.</p><p>Longbows adorned their backs as rows of archers neared in harmony, their slight, speedy horses fluid in their gait. The Elf-lord narrowed his gaze, discerning one who rode at the front of the company, whom Glorfindel recognized and remembered. His lip quirked upward.</p><p>The newcomer raised a hand, and the rows behind him ceased in their tracks. He urged his chestnut mount forward at a canter towards the waiting warriors of Imladris. The uncanny resemblance to the Elvenking took Glorfindel back to the plains of Dagorlad, and the leader advancing had the distinct bearing of royalty. It was plain to witness, more so by one who had seen kingdoms rise and fall.</p><p>The Silvan rode before them, stopping easily at a small distance. He had a hard grey stare, and long, straight hair of sable framed his sharp face. He wore the same garb and effects as his men, and nothing in his garments spoke of his status. He wore the bracers of an archer, and a quiver full of dark arrow shafts was fastened to his person. He was like the rest of them, one with them. The elves of Eryn Galen were known for their preference in adhering to the old ways and customs held before the Sun and Moon, and much about their ways was yet strange to the Ñoldor. The newcomer gazed briefly behind him, where the regular cadence of hooves and marching feet had long ceased. He then deftly dismounted, and the Imladris warriors followed suit.</p><p>When they stood facing each other, Glorfindel looked upon the very image of Thranduil King, yet could not help but notice the traits that were different. His features were well defined, though the shape of his jaw was not his father's. Another striking detail posed the strange shapes swirling along the skin of his neck, peaking just above the collar of his tunic. <em>Skin markings?</em> Absently Glorfindel tried recalling the reasoning behind these, thinking back on Silvan customs he knew from his visits many years past. It eluded him.</p><p>The newcomer glanced at the three Imladris warriors. His eyes cut to Glorfindel briefly before moving in assessment to the black-haired twins, standing tall with their dark cloaks draped over their lithe figures.</p><p>"Well met, Legolas of Eryn Galen," Glorfindel spoke first, offering a slight incline of his head, his hand to his heart in welcome.</p><p>"Hail, Lord Glorfindel, and sons of Elrond Half-elven," the young prince returned the gesture, a fist to his chest. The same blue-black patterns snaked from beneath his bracer along the back of his right hand. His gaze was blank, but then, perhaps owed to a distinct memory, the prince smiled. It was rather honest, but also rather cold.</p><p>Glorfindel stared at the Elf he had last seen many years ago. There had been a time when relations between Imladris and Thranduil were less strained, the Woodland king less reclusive. And Glorfindel himself had wandered the hidden paths of the Greenwood many, many times as an emissary. Prince Legolas was quite young when the Elf-lord had seen him first, having not yet reached maturity. This sight was a different one altogether. Glorfindel thought, with some regret, that the features he was seeing had been less burdened then. He returned the smile.</p><p>"Be welcomed, you and yours, on behalf of our father," Elladan added then, his hair tumbling down his shoulder as he bowed his head.</p><p>Legolas of Eryn Galen acknowledged this with a nod, and his youthful face was void of emotion when he spoke, save for the changing light in his eyes. "And worry not," he added, seeing the Imladris Elves staring strangely behind him, "Our numbers will be rounded soon. I bring four hundred of our people, and the rest is not far behind."</p><p>"Should we wait for the others, then?..." Glorfindel asked, having not expected this turn.</p><p>The prince shook his head. "I will dispatch a scout to guide them once we reach Imladris. If all is well, my lords, I believe we can move forward."</p><p>No more words were needed, and since none objected to efficiency, they were agreed. Glorfindel watched the prince turn away and saw a soldier near him. Her hair was braided in the manner of the Silvan folk, and her eyes were of warm amber as she listened to the prince relaying orders in a low, steady tone. Glorfindel thought in passing that he knew that warmth, but decided it was not his place to dwell on it. They exchanged a few words, speaking in what Glorfindel presumed was the Silvan dialect. When his subordinate left with her orders, the prince mounted his horse and nodded to Glorfindel, who gave the start in setting for the hidden vale.</p><p>The day had gone dark, and a cold twilight fell on the lands by the time they reached their destination. There was an orderly commotion as the main household stood in wait and acted upon arrival, moving speedily to stable the horses and guide the additional warriors to their assigned quarters. The settlement of Imladris boasted enough space to host great numbers, and additional lodgings existed a ways distance from the main house. Another remnant of a different war.</p><p>"Our father will see you whenever you are ready," Elrohir addressed the prince as they returned from the newly occupied lodgings of their Silvan allies.</p><p>Legolas was about to reply when a horn resounded through the valley. He turned his head, raising a questioning eyebrow.</p><p>"New arrivals," Glorfindel supplied, recognizing the sound, and his booted feet took him back to the gates of the great courtyard.</p><p>"It must be them," the prince offered, joining the Elf-lord with his measured stride.</p><p>The nights in the vale were windy and colder now, and the world was on the brink of <em>firith</em>, the season of Fading. Glorfindel narrowed his eyes upon the advancing rider, cloaked and hooded and coming towards them as swift as the loud waters beneath. And behind him was another array of green and bronze, moving in the same orderly cadence as the others. These marched on foot and were armed with blades, and the polished limbs of great war bows gleamed across their backs.</p><p>The Elves watched the incoming rider stop before them, dismounting with such grace and fluidity Glorfindel could not deny a flicker of approval.</p><p>The new arrival came before Legolas, saluting militarily. "A straight road if I ever saw one, compared to the trying paths of our eaves," a voice chimed into the night. A female voice.</p><p>And then, the stranger reached and drew down the hood from their head, and Glorfindel was left gazing into stubborn eyes the color of clean ice. Her dark hair was set in a single plait, and her cloak fell straight over her lean frame. She stood upright, one hand resting leisurely on the hilt of the long sword at her hip. Like all the others, she had a quiver and a longbow on her person.</p><p>Time seemed stubbornly slow, and it felt strange to Glorfindel. The fingers of his sword hand twitched at his side as he stood gaping at the newcomer in a rather unlordly manner. It was the skies, howling with faraway thunder beyond the valley, that shook him back into himself. Glorfindel strained to his full height.</p><p>"Hail, captain," the prince was speaking, and when he turned to Glorfindel, his face appeared brighter. "I do not presume this of the others, but perhaps you might remember my sister?"</p><p>Glorfindel nodded shortly with a strained smile, meeting the stranger's eyes again. Were it not for them, he would not have known her at all. He noted her rigid posture and was again reminded of the steely ways of her father. "I do. Well met, princess Morwen." When they had last seen each other, she barely reached up to his waist. With some amount of unease, Glorfindel noted the same dark patterns he had seen on the prince, adorning the left side of her neck. <em>Curious.</em></p><p>She was tall and tense, but still shorter by a head than her brother. And now her jaw stiffened as she regarded the warrior, her gaze flitting from his eyes to his hair of burnished gold, then over the rest of him. "<em>Captain</em> Morwen, at your service, my lord," came the brisk correction. She spoke tightly, the deferential nod towards Glorfindel in rather colorful opposition to the way she glared at him.</p><p>The Elf-lord kept his features blank, wondering when the world had changed. Well, this streak of pride was new. He did not recall it on her. What he did recall was a spindly little child with lively eyes, terribly shy at first, but ultimately too eager and curious for her own good. A small voice, plenty of questions, and hands eagerly tugging at him on a bright summer day. Yes, he thought, the world had changed much.</p><p>"What my sister means to say," offered Legolas then rather sharply, eyeing his sibling with a light frown, "Is that she acts as captain in our army, and this detachment, in particular, reporting to me."</p><p>Glorfindel kept a straight face, but his insides went cold. He briefly thought of Thranduil, and his usual forgiving manner flared with distaste. None of it showed as he looked to Legolas. "I see." He tried to. He turned back to the Elf maiden, forcing the customary welcome past his lips. "Be welcome, captain." He emphasized the title, attempting to right a slight he had not intended. One that both unsettled and amused him.</p><p>A curt nod was his response before her eyes flitted to the black-haired twins coming to greet her, and more words were exchanged. "Our men?" the one called Morwen then inquired of her brother, once all regards were spent.</p><p>Her voice was clipped and short, and to Glorfindel, who found it a chore to avert his attention from the child he once knew, she seemed too stiff, too wound around herself. "The first group has been settled in. Soon there is to be supper, our kitchens throughout the settlement have prepared for a few days ahead," the Elf-lord offered. Perhaps she only felt out of her element.</p><p>The Silvan looked back at him, as though astonished he was there. Her confusion fed his own. "You have forgotten," she singsonged, though it came dull and dour, as if the sounds themselves were unwilling. "Our kin does not dine so late, and not during times of war," the captain muttered, averting her eyes.</p><p>"Morwen." It was the prince who spoke, but his voice had an edge again. "Guests heed their host. I am sure we can be pliable."</p><p>Though carefully woven, the warning was there. The other seemed only barely cowed by this, however. Glorfindel had the odd sense he should be somewhere else, but for all his diplomatic skill found no proper excuse to invoke. What he found was a brief first impression. <em>Yet young, yet rash.</em> One tucked at the back of his mind, and one he hoped would change. Else there was much to work with, and they had not the time.</p><p>"We should speak of these things, brother," the captain countered then, her voice softer.</p><p>"And we will, later," the other Elf said flatly. His gaze cut to hers, and his sister fell silent.</p><p>When she turned from the prince, her brows were knit together, and there was a slight flush on her face. Glorfindel then saw a tall archer with hair of rich auburn advancing towards her. The daughter of Thranduil had hasty words with him in Silvan, and a deep kind of devotion could be seen in his eyes as the soldier listened for his orders.</p><p>"Well, as we are all here-..." Elladan breached into the moment upon his arrival from the stables.</p><p>"-shall we go meet with our father?" his brother Elrohir finished for him, as happened when one idea flowed through two minds.</p><p>Prince Legolas looked strangely relieved for the interruption. "I will come with you now, not to keep him waiting further." Then, having another thought, he turned and addressed Glorfindel. "To save time, please guide the captain and the rest of our people to our assigned dwelling spaces, my lord?"</p><p>The commander of Imladris and the princess of Eryn Galen both looked at him with varying amounts of masked wariness. It was the Elf-lord who spoke. "Of course." His eyes cut briefly to her dark lashes and the ice beneath them. "Captain, if you will follow me."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>1. [I'll say this again!] This story is a collaborative effort with the awesome Tobiramamara. This is how it goes: we both use the same outline of events, main canon characters, and OC. We follow the same plotline, but our stories will each have a different direction and, ultimately, ending. Just thought it would be a fun project to see where we each go with the same story. Be sure to follow that version too, if interested to join our ride! The twin story to this is: 'Amarth - Rising' by Tobiramamara.</p><p>2. While some names in this story are invented, most Quenya and Sindarin proper names/words/phrases are drawn from canon and/or online dictionaries.</p><p>"Amarth" S. - Fate</p><p>"Morwen" S. - Dark Maiden</p><p>"Sírdal" S. - River Foot</p><p>"Endor" Q. - Middle-earth</p><p>"Firith" S. - The Fading - one of the six seasons observed in common by the Elves (see: Reckoning of Rivendell)</p><p>3. AU elements abound, but I'll try to call out deviations from canon where relevant. For example: Mirkwood sending help to join the battle of Fornost is AU, but a prerequisite allowing some of these characters to meet.</p><p>4. This will be a twisted AU take on flawless Glorfindel. But ain't perfection better scarred?</p><p>5. The war Glorfindel muses on is The War of the Last Alliance at the end of the Second Age, when the Ring was cut from Sauron's hand. It was in that battle that Oropher fell, then king of Mirkwood, Thranduil's father.</p><p>6. And last but not least... DISCLAIMER: This fan fiction is for personal, non-commercial use only. No copyright infringement is intended, obviously.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Fornost - Feast of war</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They walked on in silence, broken only by the cadence of feet striking the great cobblestone road winding through the settlement; past the gardens and orchards, and farther away from the slithering river they went. The rest of the Silvan company followed its leader. It felt and sounded much like any other marching formation heading to war. It was a sound Morwen did not know, not truly, as she had never taken part in an open conflict of a larger scale - at least not one to be defined as War. Military leadership and tactics in the Greenwood - especially within the past thousand years - heavily relied on stealth, agility, and not a little cunning, as ever was required in the tainted shades of her woodland home.</p><p>The second-born descendant of Thranduil Oropherion looked to her surroundings, noticing all that was so different from the forest home she knew. For one, the Ñoldor seemed to relish their craft and it showed in the architectural style of their homes, their fountains, their gardens and terraces. Stone woven with life. Masterful and lofty, not unlike them. In the Northern forest, the Silvan folk not dwelling in the halls of Thranduil had their sleek abodes high amid the safety of the forest canopy and favored lighter, fleet-footed lifestyles. She had seen little of the Ñoldor in the preceding hundreds of years, and setting foot in the realm of Elrond Half-elven had, admittedly, brought a remote sense of unease. But, of course, unease defined all those gathered here, for they were heading to war.</p><p>But speaking of the Ñoldor.</p><p>From the corner of her eye, Morwen looked to her tall and graceful guide, silently escorting her with his even, catlike tread, staring blankly ahead. Despite her hardened training and instruction in diplomacy - which had admittedly yielded disappointing results compared to her brother - Morwen was honest enough with herself to allow that this encounter had taken her woefully by surprise. Many long years have passed, he said. That did not even begin to describe it, as it felt like a full Age had come and gone since she had last seen the Elf walking beside her. His appearance was, of course, the very same as she remembered. Perhaps his gaze was colder, his gait was more affected than Morwen recalled. A brief memory of soft gold streaming through her fingers stubbornly made its way to the fore. A cold winter afternoon, and warmth enveloping her. When she dismounted and saw his face, it briefly took Morwen back to that grim day in Eryn Galen, when an Elf-lord sat kneeling before a forlorn child, and soothing words bid her return to her father's halls. It seemed but a figment now, a fantasy. But his kindness had been real, and that stayed with her evermore. She blinked away the vision of a winter sun, sparse amid the limbs of snow-burdened fir trees, seeking him.</p><p>As Morwen stole a fleeting glance at the Elf-lord she barely even knew, it was quite a challenge to merge the two images together, past and present. For the one she saw had a bored mien, and his manner, though respectful, bordered on aloof - not that she had been much better, Morwen thought, groaning inwardly at the clipped words she threw upon her arrival. But this living memory had watched her in such wonderment and disbelief, that it only fed a new, troubling flavor of irritation. Born and raised a daughter of the ancient woodlands despite her Sindarin heritage, Morwen felt no compulsion to prove herself to anyone here. If nothing else, that was a certainty. She had done enough during her youth, had been forced to do more during her training. And now, apparently, a particular Elf-lord from her distant past frowned upon her presence here. He said nothing of it, possibly grasping it was not his place to do so in the grand scheme of things, but she was no fool. This, despite him knowing nothing of her life - how could he - and despite having centuries of leadership under her belt. The Shadow bit and gnawed at the borders of her home constantly along the years, never receding, always stronger. The present quietude of the valley irked her in comparison. <em>He</em>, too, appeared content, like everyone she had seen here. <em>Protected. Shielded, </em>came the petty, envious thought, which Morwen quickly discarded.</p><p>It was strange to find herself here, with him, under these circumstances. His bearing aside, it intrigued Morwen to sense a certain nostalgic warmth about him, belying his frosty presence, soft tendrils feathering along the edges of her inner self. It did not overwhelm nor smother; it was close to seeking, wondering. It was pure, tranquil; it was strength. Yes, this Morwen remembered about him.</p><p>"You met no perils on the mountain paths, then?"</p><p>His melodic voice, now as stiff as the rest of him, startled the Silvan out of her thought. She briefly gazed his way before looking ahead again, nodding. "Fortunately, we had no setbacks," she decided.</p><p>"I see," Glorfindel said shortly.</p><p>There was a niggling strangeness dividing them. The warmth Morwen felt before dimmed, receding.</p><p>"And you have been serving since...?"</p><p>This was ridiculous. "I have three hundred and fifty years of experience in the Eryn Galen scouting division, Lord Glorfindel," the Silvan succeeded, rather easily, to keep her pride in check. She felt his eyes on her and met them.</p><p>They had ceased walking, or better said he had. "One moment," Glorfindel said, distracted, hailing two members of the Imladris household who had reached them. As Morwen watched, he gave them instructions on where to accommodate the new arrivals.</p><p>An impressive building loomed before them, built against a flat side of the foothills. Its white walls boasted many levels and terraces, and it stood within walking distance of the main household and its wide gardens. Morwen noticed the banners of Eryn Galen already unfurled ahead and a few Silvan Elves of her troop whom she knew.</p><p>When the two had left, their robes billowing behind them, Glorfindel sought her eyes again.</p><p>Ice scraped against crystal. He was not as tall nor as imposing as in the mist of her memories now, yet the bothersome feeling that he was <em>more</em> persisted, unchanged, irrefutable. Once a source of admiration and awe, this foreign aura chilled, even repelled her. But then, why have expectations to begin with? Of course the famed Lord Glorfindel would dwell here, of course he would command the Imladris forces. It was only a matter of time before they would cross paths again.</p><p>"I surmise they prepared your lodgings in the main house. Once you finish with your people here, we can return," he said, and the lamps bedecking the arches along their path drowned his features in silver. It made him appear almost wraithlike, this elder Elf who had seen the light of the Trees in the blessed realm of the West. It was another striking detail about him, one she had never truly forgotten.</p><p>The peculiar light in his eyes was searching. Morwen blinked, and he was a wraith no more. "I thought I was to dwell with my contingent," the Silvan captain said, appearing truly confused. The courtesy of sleeping and living near the lords of this settlement - because of status - meant nothing to her. If Legolas did this, it was his prerogative, but she would not follow suit.</p><p>Glorfindel had crossed his arms at his chest and cocked his head to one side, his wavy hair catching the glow of a lantern above them.</p><p>He looked as though he was about to scold her. It was wholly uncomfortable, and again images of past and present merged, unbidden. There was a crease between his dark gold eyebrows. "I had assumed you desired housing close to your prince. But if this is your request, it can be met." Somehow, he made it <em>sound</em> like a scolding, too.</p><p>More rankled than was proper, Morwen reined in her bite. After all, it would not do to snap at the head of military here, and within the first hour of arrival to boot. "Far from me to be difficult, my lord. I will take what is free." Stupidity.</p><p>Glorfindel seemed inclined to offer a reply when a foreign voice hailed from without.</p><p>"Captain," a Silvan soldier looked to Morwen as he approached them in a graceful sway, his war bow in hand, his quiver slung across his back.</p><p>Morwen turned, and her gaze met sharp, almond-shaped eyes. Long auburn hair framed a fair face with high cheekbones and a firm jaw. Side braids woven in the manner of the Silvan Elves fell down his chest.</p><p>"Galan," she greeted, turning away from Glorfindel.</p><p>When they faced each other, the red-haired one briskly nodded to Glorfindel, before his clever eyes caught hers. He opened his mouth, but Morwen had already begun speaking. In Silvan.</p><p>"What is it? Do the arrangements not meet your needs?" she asked of the men, taking no heed of the Elf-lord who understood not a whit of her people's local dialect.</p><p>The woodland Elf raised an eyebrow, but faced with the blank stare of his better merely nodded, and responded in Silvan. "They will do," he declared, his mouth quivering in a wintry smile. "Are you in need of me here?"</p><p>Had it been anyone else, including Legolas, she might have taken offense. But she knew Galan since they could hold a practice sword straight, and so recognized habitual concern when shown. It had the subversive flavor of all his questions and entreaties, of his care - when he dared show it. Morwen shook her head lightly, one corner of her mouth curling upward. It made her appear feline, in a way. "I can handle the Ñoldor." Her mouth thinned. "You watch yourself. Report if there is a lack of anything, or trouble from anyone."</p><p>The Silvan bowed his head. "I will see you later?" he asked finally, his tone less official. His eyes were a warm earthy velvet, reminding her of a young deer in its prime. He would always strike against her ice, but so far it had never shattered.</p><p>"Our hosts permitting," Morwen said drily before Galan again smirked his pale copper smile. He then briefly nodded to Glorfindel again and with one furtive glance her way, left them to join a group of fellow soldiers gathered at the entrance to one building.</p><p>"There is more space here than I would have thought, I will admit," Morwen looked to the risen buildings, now brimming with presence as they resumed walking, the Elf-lord following in her wake. The scent of winter lingered in the air, bearing down from the tall, snowy shoulders of the Hithaeglir.</p><p>"The valley has seen its share of battles," Glorfindel followed the view of facades in their plain beauty, their tall windows and spacious balconies. He had seen them being built during the efforts of the Last Alliance. The united host of Elves and Men had met here to forge weapons and prepare, before setting out to besiege Mordor in a war that lasted twelve years of the Sun.</p><p>"I know," the Silvan offered shortly. "My mother died here." Her words had been unfeeling, even to her own ears. It was long ago. It was yesterday. "Against <em>him</em>."</p><p>Blurting such emotional nonsense before a stranger who would lead them in battle would not do, not at all. But there it was. Five hundred years prior, the same enemy they would face lay siege to the valley of Imladris. Silvan reinforcements joined the fray, her mother among them. When her body was returned to the Greenwood, Morwen remembered thinking her lifeless limbs were merely cast in deep slumber.</p><p>"I remember," the Elf-lord cut into the vision. "A good fighter, and a vigorous leader."</p><p>Platitudes. <em>Honest</em> platitudes, since Glorfindel and his serene honesty were legendary. Morwen felt rather foolish for being even vaguely disappointed with this reaction, with the tired edge to his voice. And so they walked on in silence, neither offering more words, the chilly night air fresh upon their faces.</p><p>A gust whispered into the ancient oak trees lining their path, its music mellowing her strained mind. Morwen felt a measure of relief when the main house came into view, with its long-winded rooms gliding along the narrow gorge. She was looking forward to being bereaved of a certain walking legend, and soon.</p><p>They crossed the threshold together, disappearing beyond the high doors, and the Silvan followed Glorfindel who led them to an extensive study where the rest were already gathered. They reached two long dark doors, and the Elf-lord pushed them open, gesturing for Morwen to enter first. Wondering why even this most average of courtesies only pinched at her mood, the Elf maiden did as he asked, and heard the doors shutting behind her.</p><p>A scent of embers and <em>niphredil</em> meandered in the air, and her gaze fell on a wide table, whereupon a map was spread, and to the group convening around it.</p><p>The first to lift his head was one standing with his back to the wide window in the room, leaning forward, his palms flat against the table. His hair was smooth and dark, falling over a blue high-collared tunic. A tall Elf woman with rich hair of silver stood by his side, garbed in a flowing grey robe, following the map with interest. Morwen had never seen either of them before, but sensed the powerful bond - with each other, and all else. She knew who they were. Her gaze strayed to her brother, and the twin warriors standing to his right.</p><p>Glorfindel had stepped before her, nodding to the Elf in the blue tunic, who responded casually before looking her way again. "Hail Morwen, princess of Eryn Galen," he stepped around the table, honoring her with an incline of his head. His eyes were keen and young, old and grave.</p><p>"My lord Elrond," Morwen replied in kind, "Well met, our paths cross at last," she offered pleasantly. "I will not bore you with my own poorly knit words of gratitude - I am certain my brother has obliged on my behalf," she added with easy wit, stepping forward to join Legolas, who threw her a scathing look she dutifully ignored.</p><p>The master of Imladris smiled. In his stare, Morwen saw the stunning light of the elder Elves, reminding her of the warrior she had known as a child. "Now," he began, watching Morwen a moment longer before turning to Legolas, "As I was saying, we will gladly host you and your people for the duration of your stay. We will speak at length of all matters concerning our goal and departure for Arnor. We all know the manner in which the following months will unfold. For now, I have a proposition. Despite war looming ahead, or owed to it, I feel we can take a last chance to foster communion between our peoples." Elrond set his bright gaze on Morwen again.</p><p>Looking at him, she thought for a moment of the tales of the First Age, when a Half-elven mariner set out on a quest across wrathful seas, pleading with the Valar to intercede on behalf of Middle-earth. The mariner was Eärendil, allegedly the bearer of a Silmaril across the sky - and his father. "As your people have fortuitously arrived before the <em>enderi</em>, I would postpone the start of our strategy alignment until the day after tomorrow; let us allow a reprieve for the first of three days' observance. These are not times for merriment, but it would provide an opportunity for those who wish to hold custom. I have already spoken to Erestor, the chief of my household, who is overseeing preparations for the event - he would work with you."</p><p>"This is workable," Legolas agreed after brief consideration. "We brought our own provisions and can arrange contributions for the entire duration of three days. You will also have our aid with hunting to support your kitchens when needed, for the entire duration of our stay."</p><p>"That would be of great aid, prince. Then it is settled," Elrond spoke, looking to the silver-haired lady whom Morwen now presumed was his spouse.</p><p>The <em>enderi</em>. A whirl of pleasant memories struck the young Silvan, thinking back to the three-day celebration marking a ritualistic passing from <em>Iavas</em>, autumn, into the season of <em>Firith</em>, the fading. Of course, upon consideration, all her experiences were from Eryn Galen, and it was known the Silvan folk and the Ñoldor differed somewhat in keeping this tradition. She still thought holding custom would aid with the growing unrest in the vale, in their hearts, if only for a blink of time.</p><p>More discussion followed regarding the length of stay for the mustering of their forces, dependent upon logistics needed solving before setting out for Arnor. By the end, though they had not even begun delving into actual strategy, Morwen felt weary; she barely had enough steel in her legs and presence of mind to make her farewells as both hosts and allies strode out of the meeting, melting away into unknown hallways to retreat for the night.</p><p>Morwen left the study, more fatigued than she felt in a long while.</p><p>"Captain."</p><p>She turned at the voice and saw her brother, accompanied by the commander of Imladris. It was strange to see them side by side. Compared to Legolas, one could easily notice the distinction about the older Elf, an<em> otherness</em>, arcane yet warm and flowing like sunset light.</p><p>"Are our people all seen to?"</p><p>"Of course," Morwen returned. Then, having another thought, she involuntarily looked to Glorfindel, "Though I do not know where my own lodgings lie, as of yet."</p><p>"Oh, you both occupy the same floor," the Elf-lord supplied helpfully, a mild smile pulling at his lips. "Come, I will lead you both there myself," and he started ahead to do just that. After stealing brief glances towards each other, the royal siblings of Eryn Galen followed, each with their own misgivings written on their faces.</p><p>回 回 回</p><p>The coming day dwindled in preparation, with Elves flowing back and forth, seeing to their tasks. The wide space in the Hall of Fire was set with tables, and before its great hearth seats and cushions were arranged for the telling of tales, as was the custom during the first evening of the <em>enderi</em>. The arrangements made their way to the lamplit gardens, and refreshments abounded - fragrant wine, sweet and savory pastries, and different assortments of seasonal fruit.</p><p>Having spent the day at the Silvan quarters settling matters with her men, the daughter of Thranduil was hastily making her way to the evening gathering. The voice heralding the beginning of the feast became clearer as she neared. She breathed in. Sweet, earthy scents reached her from within, combined with the smell of burning candles. The day's work had left her with little time for grooming as befitted her status, but Morwen had bathed and changed out of her practical clothes into a dress with a modest neckline, revealing the markings of the Silvan warrior elite etched into her skin. Her hair was unbound, combed free over her shoulders, reaching to her waist. She wore no adornments apart from a plain mithril leaf fastening a green sash to her right shoulder. As she crossed the wide hall, lost among the folk dressed in their solemn celebration garb, Morwen caught sight of the main table. She saw her brother seated to one end, dressed in his muted finery. Beside him was Glorfindel, his hair a burst of sun haloed crimson by the merry hearth nearby. With them sat lord Elrond and his spouse, the silver lady Celebrían, whom she had seen the day before. She had an assured and comely smile on her face as she shared words with her sons, the twin brothers Elladan and Elrohir.</p><p>Morwen neared and greeted them all before taking her place at the side of her brother, facing Glorfindel.</p><p>"Sister! Good of you to finally join us," the prince of the Woodland Realm began, pouring himself more burgundy wine. He then eyed his sister shrewdly. "I nearly had someone sent to find you, to ensure all was well," he finished.</p><p>"All is well," his sister retorted, watching as Glorfindel took a decanter and began pouring scented water into her glass.</p><p>"No-" Morwen raised a hand, urging him to cease. "Thank you. I can help myself."</p><p>The Elf-lord paused but said nothing, nodding and setting the decanter back in its place.</p><p>As the meal carried through the evening, Morwen listened to the Lord Elrond converse with her brother about their unending fight for Eryn Galen - the Southern forests, and their decay. It was always a feast for the ears to hear Legolas speak of matters that appeared to flow in great detail, when in fact they were vague pieces of knowledge, carefully chosen to pose no strategic value. A habit learned from their father. Smiling, she tore her attention away and heard many rather outrageous tales - or so Morwen thought - courtesy of the twin brothers, all the while feeling completely out of place among these strangers, allies by necessity.</p><p>"This war will take more from us than the Second Siege of Imladris," Glorfindel was telling Legolas and the sons of Elrond, the only ones left at the table as their meal concluded. "Even more so, since it will be winter by the time we set out to meet with prince Eärnur and his army."</p><p>Morwen watched him speak, his words gaining a grating quality. How could he be confident of this? Experience was not foresight, though she knew some of the Eldar boasted such abilities.</p><p>"That<em> is</em> an added complication considering the state of the roads, and the resistance of our mounts," Legolas was saying.</p><p>Glorfindel appeared thoughtful for a moment. "I am certain Mirkwood and Imladris will mitigate the risk-"</p><p>"<em>Eryn Galen</em>," Morwen raised her wineglass to her lips. Her eyes cut to bright blue ones flecked with gold. "We refer to our home as Eryn Galen, or the Greenwood if you please. Ask any of our host."</p><p>Glorfindel moved not at all, nor was there any change in his features as silence fell over the table. His words were soft when he spoke. "I did not mean to... cause offense to you or your realm, lady Morwen."</p><p>"A common mistake, nowadays," Elladan added from his corner while cutting a piece of fruit. "Lord Glorfindel meant no slight. He never does," the Elf added with a wry smile.</p><p>Morwen cut eyes to the Elf-lord, whose expression was the epitome of serenity. "Our home is not as securely hidden and tucked away as yours, my lord, and our lands are less safe lately, and fallen prey to darkness. That is true. But we do our best and do not relish being casually reminded of its failings by outsiders-"</p><p>"Morwen." Her brother's voice.</p><p>Her gaze locked on his. The prince was lounging easily in his chair, watching her strangely before looking into his wine, which he was swirling with slow, languid flicks of his wrist.</p><p>"Brother," Morwen stared, wondering what game was coming this time. Her fingers tightened in her lap.</p><p>Legolas was smiling, the fine sheet of his dark hair layered over one shoulder, shining against the silver of his tunic. He had long rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, exposing the bluish skin markings that writhed in a continuous swirl along his forearm. Limned by the light reaching from the hearth, his features appeared all the more regal - but there was no warmth in them. "If I remember well enough - and I trust that I do - you and lord Glorfindel had once been rather close. I, for one, even now recall flailing arms and free bouncing whenever news of his approach reached us." He raised his chin towards her, his grey stare daring and hooded, before turning to Glorfindel.</p><p>The Elf-lord returned his gaze with an indulgent smile, and though it did not reach his eyes, it brought more warmth than expected to the rather awkward table. Morwen herself could hardly keep from staring daggers her brother's way.</p><p>"What was it you called him?" Legolas seemed to ponder, a finger to his chin, turning to Elrohir as though he held the answer.</p><p>"How is this relevant now?" Morwen asked tightly, her eyes shards of glass.</p><p>"Fin... ? Glorie...? No..." Legolas ignored her, looking to Glorfindel. "Forgive me, my lord, but it was so amusing..." his shapely dark brows furrowed.</p><p>Elrohir and Elladan stared at each other minutely with identical grins.</p><p>"Finglor," Glorfindel said then, having taken a small sip of his wine. "She used to call me 'Finglor'." He leaned back in his seat, regarding the contents of his glass briefly before setting it on the table.</p><p>"Indeed!" Legolas lifted his own glass in salute. "She could never get your actual name right if I recall, and for a time, our halls knew the greatest warrior on Arda by his royal diminutive. Sister- where are you going?" the prince questioned innocently, seeing Morwen rising from her chair.</p><p>"If I may be excused," his sister said pointedly, taking her drink, "It is rather stifling in here. I will be outside, enjoying the fresh air." She gave the rest of the table a halfhearted nod and paced away, lost amid the colorful crowd.</p><p>She passed by the tables and murmurs, until the light of the hearth was at her back, and her steps carried her outside, into the night. Morwen breathed in the sharp air, so crisp compared to the stale, murky mists found in the forests of home. A verse she knew reached her from inside. A fair voice added emphasis to a chorus. <em>The fall of Gondolin.</em> It was one of the great tales habitually shared during nights of celebration. Though the days were yet warm, a chill like a shroud had fallen over the valley. Cold stars painted the skies.</p><p>She knew he was there not by sound, but by a faint, indefinite stir. It was his wont to do so, and a memory of their youth. They would often practice stealth as younglings by playing 'hide and seek', to see who was the first to surprise the other within a given perimeter. There was joy in those years.</p><p>Morwen looked at the prince from the corner of her eye. His head was upturned to the stars.</p><p>"You are missing the tales, and the miruvor sharing," Legolas murmured, crossing his arms at his chest.</p><p>Morwen narrowed her eyes on the view before her. The Bruinen struggled ahead, wailing and rushing away on its endless path. "Aren't you the dutiful diplomat?"</p><p>"One of us has to be," her brother replied just as softly. There was no smile on his face. It was wooden, armed.</p><p><em>So it goes</em>, she thought. "Why did you do that?" she would demand her answers first, knowing what was to follow.</p><p>"Do what, captain?" The question in his tone was honest, irking her all the more.</p><p>"Do not be coy," Morwen rebutted. "Why did you have to... to... <em>humiliate</em> me like that in front of them?"</p><p>"Humiliate you?" Legolas arched an eyebrow, looking her way. "Is it a lie that you used to fawn over the Lord Glorfindel as a child? It is not as though you were the first either-"</p><p>"Obviously, we are not children anymore," his sister seethed. "You did that on purpose, and I would appreciate you-"</p><p>"You should appreciate me indeed," Legolas cut her off swiftly. "You were making a complete fool of yourself. They are our <em>allies</em>, Morwen. I never knew the term posed confusion to you."</p><p>There it was. The lesson. Morwen whirled around to hasten back inside and far away from her infuriating brother, just as he took her by the arm.</p><p>Legolas searched her eyes, though she refused to meet his. He dipped his chin towards her affronted expression. "Pettiness will only get you so far, and you know better than to be baited, by me or anyone else. This is not our land, sister-"</p><p>"Precisely," Morwen groused and removed her arm from his hold, cutting to his narrowed eyes. "This is not our land, these are not our eaves, and we ought to stand together, united before them. And acting this way - shaming me before their leaders - will not aid in the least," she finished with a sigh, already turning to head back inside. She left her brother behind and resolved to hear him later, knowing this was not the end.</p><p>回 回 回</p><p>When Morwen reached the Hall of Fire, the Fall of Gondolin was at its last chorus. A warm male voice sang in sweet anguish, of the fell hordes descending upon the city, of the Tower of the King crumbling, of the death of Turgon. Despite herself, Morwen looked for a flicker of gold among the crowd, but saw none.</p><p>"They praise him well," a known voice spoke close to her. Morwen turned, a smile forming on her lips as she stared into the sly eyes of Galan. He had also changed from his soldierly garb, his simple beauty resplendent in a dark green tunic and trousers. His hair was unbound and glowed like a flame.</p><p>"Which is why he is probably not here," Morwen added with a smirk, relieved that she spoke true. She felt rather out of place for her useless outburst towards Glorfindel earlier, even before her brother berated her for it.</p><p>Galan's features twisted oddly, but his shrug was detached enough as he gazed over the crowd. "You are troubled." He looked back at her.</p><p>"Kind of you to let me know," Morwen threw him a wry smile.</p><p>"It is this place," Galan looked about them, appearing wary of the shaded, gentle atmosphere. He could never be at ease in foreign territory. He had not traveled to the outer lands before. "It is strange, as though ever charged with a strong wind, relentlessly pulling at your mind. Even the trees are different. Not unwelcoming, but reluctant of the taint still besieging us. When I touch them, their voices are faint. There is significant power here. I feel it. But it also makes me wonder, for as we know, despite their name the Ñoldor did not always weave their knowledge wisely."</p><p>Morwen huffed drily. The First Age, an utter bloodbath. "You know what they say about us," she offered either way, her mind on lighter things.</p><p>Galan crossed his arms, looking bored as he recited: "Yes, yes, dangerous... unwise..."</p><p>"Less wise, <em>less</em> wise! The difference is stark, even for you," Morwen chuckled, feeling at ease for the first time in this place. She watched the crowd, all willing participants to this moment of respite before the impending storm. Visitors and residents mingled well together. Her smile fell. "But on your misgivings: I know your thought. Still, this place, it appears to repel the Shadow, and that is a measure of comfort." She clicked her tongue. "Whatever the outcome, remember our own come first. We offer blood, not needless sacrifice. Nothing changed, only the battlefield." She looked at him and knew from his eyes that Galan agreed. She felt it then, stronger, the vague whisper at the edges of her fëa, not unlike a soft wind, rustling her within. Not much different from the <em>otherness</em> she felt when walking with Glorfindel. A protective veil set about the land. A shield.</p><p>"Not complaining, captain, I was merely making an observation," Galan was saying. He paused. "After all, I chose to come," his voice was changed, and Morwen felt as though she had stumbled.</p><p>Not without noticing, Galan sipped the rest of his drink, watching her over the rim. He then set the empty glass upon a table nearby. "Will you stay on?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, nodding towards the Hall.</p><p>Morwen sighed and gave him a look that spoke of many things. "For a little longer. Diplomacy, you see," she added drily.</p><p>Galan flashed her a grin. "Alas, it is times like these that I do not envy your blue blood, princess- ah, look, it is starting," he gestured towards the Hall again. "A sign that I should take my leave, I think. After all, we have our own sharing ritual at our lodgings," he said meaningfully. "Until tomorrow, captain," the Silvan added softly and turned away, but not before leaning close to his superior, and whispering: "I would not pinch at that miruvor of theirs for too long, lest your brother might see fit to scold you again."</p><p>"Vexing your superior is punishable by law in our order, or so I knew," Morwen muttered in his wake, not bothering to ask how Galan discerned the source of her aggravation.</p><p>The archer snorted, appearing too roguish and green. "Oh please," he waved a long, careless hand as he walked away. "You may not see it, but the signs are the same, every time."</p><p>She nearly laughed and scoffed at his gall. But his wit had always been a mark of his character. Morwen even had a mind to go after her friend, to end this night in some sort of familiarity. Back inside, she heard the voices cease, meaning the miruvor sharing ritual had already begun. It was custom for the leading members of the household to officiate, welcoming the first day of the <em>enderi</em> by sharing in the warmth of the reviving cordial.</p><p>In Imladris, miruvor was famed for the impeccable craft in its making. Its sweet fragrance could now be felt in the air, reminiscent of honeyed summer flowers, and all in attendance had shared amongst themselves small cups filled with the invigorating drink. The custom was for the head of the house and their spouse to each pour two cups for themselves. They would drink from one, and the other would be given to the reveler closest to them. The lord Elrond was presently standing before the great hearth, at the side of his wife Celebrían, and had begun the ritual with the flames roaring behind them. The ones tasting from the offered miruvor would in turn give their own cup to another, and so on. At the moment, the cordial was being shared in a spiral from two directions.</p><p>Morwen was about to retreat for the night, considering searching for Galan after all, when she turned her head to see none other than Glorfindel, his warm features bathed in the gold of the fire. Despite her prayers to the contrary, he seemed to approach her, only stopping until they were at arm's length. She froze despite herself and looked warily up at him, her head tilted to the side. Her eyes sought the drink he held in his hand.</p><p>"I bring you the Fading," Glorfindel locked eyes with her and said the customary words, his face honest and open.</p><p>She wanted to hit it.</p><p>
  <em>Unbelievable.</em>
</p><p>Inordinately stung, both from her own mistake and the words of her brother, Morwen sighed harshly, not even bothering to hide her pique. "I welcome the sun-waning, as you do," she spat the expected reply, took the cup from him in a move so sudden a little spilled beyond the rim, swiftly drank and pushed it back into his hands. His honest temerity brought her metaphorical cup to the point of pouring over. But the look in his eyes kept her from spewing the snide remark making its way to her lips.</p><p>"You were always quick of both wit and temper," the warrior said before wisely curbing that trail of thought, taking note of her darkening stare. He cleared his throat. "I meant no affront earlier, please know this."</p><p>What to say? She did not expect the way his gaze scoured, the way it <em>saw</em> her. "No, no I see that. Neither did I." She must have drunk the miruvor too suddenly, for Morwen felt strange things; her limbs were too mellow, her bones close to melting, pliable.</p><p>Despite the fire lit mood of the evening, there was another, brighter, warmer light, almost tangible now, reaching for her. Morwen thought the potent drink must be affecting her but this facet of it was unknown to her. Perhaps it was a peculiarity of the Imladris variance.</p><p>His soft, steady voice reached her again. "Much has changed in the world. The last I want, is to foster ill will between us," the Elf-lord followed firmly, and there was an earnestness in his eyes.</p><p>Morwen watched him mouth the words and barely heard them. The fire in the hearth bursting behind them grew dimmer. The fire, the voices, the songs. <em>All</em> dimmer than him. Despite the pressing weight of duty and imminent war, she felt so at ease that she nearly reached to touch him, seeking the weak glow of memories. Thankfully, she had enough wits left to prevent such blunders in time. <em>Here, brother, have your watchful peace.</em> "No," was what spilled past her lips. "Neither do I."</p><p>It was as good a lie as any.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>1. 'Niphredil' S. - snowdrop</p><p>2. Enderi (see: Reckoning of Rivendell)- three days set between the seasons of Iavas (Autumn) and Firith (Fading). The celebration of the enderi in this story is AU.</p><p>3. This story is a collaborative effort with the awesome Tobiramamara. This is how it goes: we both use the same outline of events, main canon characters, and OC. We follow the same plotline, but our stories will each have a different direction and, ultimately, ending. Just thought it would be a fun project to see where we each go with the same story. Be sure to follow that version too, if interested to join our ride! The twin story to this is: 'Amarth - Rising' by Tobiramamara.</p><p>Until next time</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Fornost - Bloodhunt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>"vinime" Q. - little one (f)</p><p>"phuinē" (primitive Elvish) - deep shadow, night shade (elfdict)</p><p>"huinë" Q. - deep shadow, night shade (elfdict)</p><p>"Okhor-pharalē" (primitive Elvish, fanmade) ~ blood hunting</p><p>For this chapter I've borrowed the wonderful character of Tessarion, courtesy of Tobiramamara. He is a Noldo Elf featured in Tobiramamara's story Flame Light! Flee darkness! Lacho Calad! Drego Morn! - a compelling AU take on our favorite Imladris twins. Check it out if you are so inclined.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Elrond Half-elven stood alone on the long balcony, head upturned to the stars. A chilly wind tugged at his celebratory robes as he gazed into the night settled over the Hithaeglir. From this viewpoint, the mountains were looming giants, his home set at their feet. It was late, and most revelers had retired after the first evening honoring the <em>enderi</em>. A breeze lifted his dark hair as he followed the path of the thrashing river.</p><p>Absently, his thumb rubbed against his right forefinger, where blue Vilya throbbed in shades of moonlit sapphire. <em>Protection. Preservation.</em> He closed his eyes, lost to the past. The dust of battle, the snapping of banners; wide, bloodied fields of mires uncounted. A spear flashing. The golden band still glowed with remnants of its former wearer's memories. Elrond remembered the day Ereinion Gil-Galad entrusted the ring to him, before his demise at the siege of Barad-dûr. <em>You will have better use of it before the end, </em>the last High King of the Ñoldor had said. But the end, whatever it meant, lay hidden from any foresight. Elrond only saw half-visions hovering at the edge of his waking mind during sleep deprived nights; destinies, both known and yet unknown to him, weaved from both the First and Second Children, following paths unrevealed.</p><p>"Will the oil burn late again, my friend?" someone asked, and the lord of Imladris smiled, his thought meandering away.</p><p>"It appears so - but you are no stranger to it yourself, as you are here."</p><p>Glorfindel stepped onto the balcony, his tunic shimmering in the lamplight. "The white nights come and go. I've barely escaped an account of Elrohir's tales of glory from his early hunting days," he said in good humor, walking to the stone balustrade and leaning with his arms folded against it.</p><p>For a while, they watched the tearful waterfalls gushing from the mountain sides.</p><p>"All goes well so far," Glorfindel murmured.</p><p>"In Arnor, it could barely be worse. A missive arrived during the night."</p><p>"From Lord Círdan?"</p><p>Elrond nodded.</p><p>"I see. And the messenger?"</p><p>"Unharmed - having escaped a few close encounters. He reiterated what was in the missives. The former kingdoms are in tatters, Arthedain in disarray. Gondor, Lindon and the mustered Men of Arnor expect to be ready by the onset of winter."</p><p>Glorfindel shook his head. "Not the best season for an offensive, but there is little choice. At least," he paused, "that gives us more time to prepare here. And the Elvenking?"</p><p>"Prince Legolas assigned two of his scouts to cross the mountains with tidings," said Elrond, leaning with his elbows on the balustrade. "I will append my words to his."</p><p>Shades of laughter like soft petals reached them from the house, where the halls were slow to empty of revelers. Elrond tipped his gaze to the skies. "Once the <em>enderi </em>pass, we focus on the rest."</p><p>Glorfindel turned his head at the lilt of familiar voices.</p><p>"Here they are, my noble elders," Elrohir spoke as he reached them, accompanied by another dark-haired Elf whose face was set in a crooked smile - Tessarion, captain of the Imladris Guard. His usually reserved demeanor had vanished as rarely happened. Instead, his step was light, his deep eyes glittering.</p><p>"Father," Elrohir began, "the frown worries me. Do not brood so - I wish to report that behold, Elladan has been taken hostage by a host of Mirkwood warrior maids, and must fend on his own. I'd say our alliance with the Silvan Elves is off to a good start - barring one slighted daughter of Thranduil," he threw Glorfindel a meaningful look.</p><p>"You've been enjoying the cordial," said Elrond, a corner of his lips twisting upward.</p><p>"I needed it," Elrohir declared, "for dealing with guests and navigating sparse common ground can be busy work. Though I will say this - those Wood-elves can drink."</p><p>"I attest to that," added Tessarion, propping himself against the stone edge.</p><p>"Speaking of which," Elrohir looked to his father, as if remembering something. "Who here is braving that hunt of theirs tomorrow? From what I've heard tonight, it's quite the affair, with a rather interesting ceremony."</p><p>Elrond closed his eyes, looking wearied. "I have spoken to prince Legolas of the arrangements. Participation is voluntary."</p><p>"Ah," Elrohir seemed thoughtful for a moment. He glanced at Tessarion. "Are you considering it, my lord?"</p><p>Tessarion gave a short laugh. "Are you?"</p><p>Elrohir shrugged. "My curiosity is stirred. I know so little of our allies, as opposed to all of you."</p><p>Glorfindel was gazing at the starry outlines of the Menelmacar constellation, following the stance of the Swordsman across the sky. "I might go."</p><p>"A precedent has been broken!" Elrohir raised his cup. "Lord Glorfindel being unpredictable and inefficient with his time. Now I am left to wonder."</p><p>"You mean to keep an eye on them," Elrond stated.</p><p>Glorfindel smiled, glancing at the lord of Imladris. "Yes, and no. Some of our own should be there. Besides, the kitchens need provisioning either way. The timing is good."</p><p>Elrond shook his head. "Be careful, my friend. You know what it entails."</p><p>"Does he, now?" Elrohir raised an eyebrow, his features lit in brief interest. "That is unsurprising," he grinned at Glorfindel, "when one has lived for as long as your lordship - no slight intended - we can safely assume-"</p><p>"Did you not mean to rescue your brother from an onslaught, Elrohir?" Tessarion cut in, rubbing at his temple. Elrohir was fast of wit, a trait turned both colorful and tiresome when steeped in drink.</p><p>"Alas, none can throw a dismissal quite like the Ñoldor," Elrohir grumbled as he spun on his heel. "But let me tell you," he said, walking away, "that one day, you will all miss me as I am now."</p><p>"Certainly we will," muttered Tessarion in his wake with half a smile. "So," he turned back to Glorfindel. "At what time is this hunt tomorrow?"</p><p>回 回 回</p><p>The silence was impregnable, and patches of snow fell from the burdened branches of trees. Winter had come early to the Greenwood, bursting in gales, layering its mantle of singing frost over all. The tips of her fingers had reddened from the chill. The day was clear, the sun barely filtering through trees cloaked in thick, glittering white.</p><p>Morwen curled closer into the animal and ran a hand along the deer's dappled side. The creature raised its head, its wet, velvety nose cold against the child's pale cheek.</p><p>She had been gone for a while, running, tripping, falling only to rise again and finally sinking to the ground after a long race, hot and flushed and weary, her mind full. The woodland deer had approached on slender legs, out of nowhere, lying down to nestle her against its warm body when Morwen would not move.</p><p>She curled closer, her sobs like crippled birds in the silence. A soft sigh of air stirred the icedust from laden boughs. The child started when the animal suddenly tensed against her, neck straight, ears perked. Slowly, Morwen raised her head from beneath the sheltering underbrush. It was not long before she felt another presence.</p><p>She choked in surprise and plunged back down. Her eyes followed the newcomer as he dismounted his tall white horse, running a gentle hand down its powerful neck, murmuring words Morwen did not hear. The steed neighed a response, and its mane swayed like quicksilver in the pale light. The Elf smiled, clearly caught in the exchange with his four-legged friend.</p><p>Fresh tears pricked her lashes, and she tucked herself back down; but then she was up again, watching him from afar as he walked about the area with seemingly no purpose in mind. Snow crunched beneath his grey boots as the Elf came to stand near the wiry thicket of her retreat. A bird disturbed the branches above his head, and falling snow dusted his cloaked shoulders.</p><p>He lowered his hood and neared a shrub of holly, its bright red fruit like blood drops against the pristine white scenery. The Elf took a few berries in his palm, pausing as the drumming of a lone woodpecker echoed nearby. He raised his head, briefly following the source of sound, but his attention soon reverted to the winterberries.</p><p>Morwen held her breath. Why was <em>he </em>on this path? How?</p><p>"You may come out now, <em>vinime</em>."</p><p>Startled and cringing at the soft words, she waited. Her head fell forward against the deer, and she was unwilling to move. At dawn, before the sun bled in the east, she had fled the caverns, unable to breathe for what lay within them.</p><p>"Your father worries," the tall Elf spoke again after some time, rolling the berries between long fingers.</p><p>The deer slowly rose from their spot, and Morwen reluctantly gained her feet. Her dark head emerged from her hiding place, disheveled, a sullen look on her face. Her eyes were red from weeping.</p><p>The Elf glanced her way briefly, offering the berries to the deer who'd reached him in the meantime.</p><p>Morwen approached on uncertain steps, arms crossed at her chest. "How did you find me? I thought… I thought you were leaving today."</p><p>"I was," he said, scratching the deer behind one ear. He tilted his head to look at her. "But then you went missing. I came to search with the others."</p><p>Her face twisted in a grimace. "We're close to the main path leading to the Halls. Father knows I wouldn't break his rule and venture south into tainted areas."</p><p>Glorfindel sank to one knee before her. "You know the borders change now with every sun-round."</p><p>Morwen looked to her feet. "Of course I know. This is why I will be like Mother and my brother; I will not hide." She brushed the snow and dirt from her knees. "I will fight."</p><p>Glorfindel watched her for a moment. "Often the losses outweigh the rewards in leading such a life."</p><p>She swallowed and turned away, then looked back over her shoulder at him. "You brought her to us dead, and now you're leaving," Morwen mumbled. She bent down and reached for a twig, turning it in her hands. It was Glorfindel who led the journey over the mountains to the Greenwood, returning her mother Celeriel and others of their people fallen in the recent siege on the Imladris stronghold. Thranduil had agreed for her to lead the detachment, to his bitter regret.</p><p>"It is not fair," she croaked, her head sinking forward. The funeral marked her; the very notion of death among their kind had been foreign to Morwen until now. The stony silence, the grief, the catafalque; her father's rigid fingers digging into her shoulder.</p><p>"It isn't," his words tore her out of the memory. Glorfindel placed a gentle hand atop her head. "But she is not alone. There is a guide, and this was not the closing journey of her life."</p><p>Morwen shrugged, wiping her nose with her sleeve. Why wouldn't she believe him? He knew this firsthand, after all. And yet... "But Father is furious, and he barely speaks to me or Legolas now. He locks himself in his study and will hear no one. I have never seen him so." The stick broke under her fingers, and she threw it away. "I don't know what to do."</p><p>Glorfindel rose to his feet. "Be there. The king may not speak of it, but he needs you both at his side; more than you know."</p><p>A sob broke from her, and Morwen lowered her head, guilt taking hold.</p><p>"The sooner we return, the better," Glorfindel said, cupping her cheek with his palm.</p><p>She nodded to his bright eyes, her small shoulders slumping forward. As they walked to his horse together, Morwen looked up at him again. "I miss her."</p><p>Glorfindel bent and lifted the child off the ground, setting her on his steed. He pulled her hood back over her head. "Grieve, but treasure the memories, and look to the day you meet again; remember the shores of Eldamar."</p><p>His kind smile eased the dead weight in her chest and Morwen fell silent as he mounted behind her, urging the steed onward.</p><p>The stillness of the sleepy forest and the warmth of the horse brought forth a deep drowsiness. Morwen mellowed, but the thought of her father's veiled grief was a spike of ice to her heart. "What were they like?" she asked faintly. "The Undying Lands."</p><p>A soft chuckle. "I've told you all about them, countless times."</p><p>The child closed her eyes and fell back against him, longing to forget the present. "Tell me again."</p><p>回 回 回</p><p>It was noon when they left the settlement, cloaked and barefooted, setting for the bridge. They were the Elves of Imladris who volunteered to partake in the second day rite of the <em>enderi </em>with the Elves of Mirkwood: the hunt. Glorfindel led the way with his captain, Tessarion.</p><p>"Mind telling me how this will unfold?" the Noldo lord asked his commander as they reached the shade of the forest, and the roaring falls died behind them. "I'm obviously not as familiar with the custom."</p><p>Glorfindel looked to the crowns of trees cast in their rusty autumn colors. The light of day filtered through the branches weaved above their heads, swaying to the careless sigh of a mild wind. "The <em>okhor-pharalē</em> is an ancient practice," he said. "It was inherited from the Nandor who abandoned the Great Journey and settled to live in the woodlands surrounding the Anduin Vale. First, its purpose was to aid survival in the untamed lands of old. But with the coming of the Sun and Moon, through the ages it was relegated to a ceremonial custom, followed during certain times of the year. Such as now."</p><p>"I see. Interesting," said Tessarion. "We greet the Fading with warmth, tales, and observance - they receive it with blood."</p><p>"Tomorrow, we all observe," replied Glorfindel. "But today, they honor the earth, feeding it spilled life before nature falls asleep in the bleak days of the Fading."</p><p>"A sacrifice of sorts…" Tessarion wondered. "You have my undivided attention," he smirked, running a hand through his dark brown hair.</p><p>"It is simple," Glorfindel said. "The hunt is by the community, for the community. Pairs are assigned to collaborate on making a kill. Once the goal is met, we return with the quarry to be prepared for the evening feast."</p><p>"I can imagine what lord Elrond had to say about this," Tessarion murmured. "He seemed wary the other night."</p><p>"He is accepting enough," Glorfindel replied, "considering what awaits us. Our kindreds may have grown apart through the Ages and history severed our ties from the time of Cuiviénen, but now…" he sighed, looking back ahead. "Now, my friend, we must again unite before a common goal."</p><p>Tessarion nodded. "Inevitable, was it not?" He fingered the dagger strapped to his person beneath his cloak. "Now let's say I better understand the requirements," he grinned, glancing down at his unshod feet. "And I reckon you took part in this before since you seem well acquainted with it."</p><p>Glorfindel closed his eyes for a breath, remembering the countless times he had crossed the paths of the Greenwood as an emissary of Elrond and spent time in the Halls of the Woodland King. He saw Thranduil, his silver hair wild, his fearless face drenched in blood, gaze burning with triumph before his kill. "Once," he said.</p><p>They walked on in silence until the sight of a group hailed before them, where the Mirkwood Elves stood. Most were bare from the waist up, and their unbraided hair fell in streams down their naked shoulders. They had gathered in a semi-circle, and prince Legolas stood in their midst. Not all had joined the rite, it seemed, as there were less than a quarter of those having journeyed to Imladris under the Elvenking's banners. To the prince's right, a few paces away, was his sister. Legolas raised his gaze and nodded a silent greeting as the Imladris Elves joined.</p><p>Anticipation thrummed in the air. Glorfindel remembered this pull, alluring and inviting, rising from the very soil through the soles of his feet; the elements in their purest form, the sway of the seasons, the chthonic power rushing through the deep veins of the earth. A weave of scents, color and sensation. He watched the Silvan prince; a shaft of pale autumn light fell on his features, and again the sight of Thranduil long ago came to his mind.</p><p>They had kindled a weak fire beneath a rounded metal vessel.</p><p>"What am I seeing?" Tessarion asked, leaning closer to Glorfindel.</p><p>"The sharing of <em>phuinē</em>," Glorfindel replied as Legolas raised a bare, embellished arm, the long fingers of his right palm splayed in the air facing the gathering. The Elf-lord met Tessarion's expectant gaze. "<em>Huinë</em>," he repeated the word in their native Quenya. Deep shadow. "It focuses one's abilities and instincts, but clouds the waking mind; they resort to it before great battles."</p><p>"A strength enhancer?"</p><p>"Of a kind," Glorfindel said, watching as the son of Thranduil drew a sleek white knife. "But its effects go beyond that, altering perception, one's focus and will. In small amounts, it proves quite effective. I imagine it came useful in their realm. You may refuse to be marked, of course."</p><p>Tessarion shook his head, smiling. "We shall see."</p><p>Glorfindel fell silent. He'd felt the effects of the <em>phuinē</em> long ago, in one such hunt with Thranduil's court - before even the begetting of his children, now officiating the same ritual. The weed used was native to the soil of Northern Mirkwood, a strain well known to the Wood-elves. That event, as he remembered, had been an experience not easily forgotten.</p><p>Prince Legolas ran the sharp edge of his blade across his raised palm, then clenched his fist above the heated metal container. Crimson rivulets dripped inside and hissed as they burned. "Blood," he said, his grey stare set ahead.</p><p>Morwen joined her brother, a wooden urn in her hands. Her dark hair shone down her straight back, and her eyes were hooded. Legolas took the urn and spilled what looked like dried plant matter into the vessel. A heady smell rose in the air as it smoldered, and a thick white smoke briefly hid the prince's features from view.</p><p>The Wood-elves watched him with bated breath as he spoke the word. "Shadow."</p><p>"Such tension - let us hope no one snaps," Elrohir whispered with a smirk. The twin sons of Elrond had also joined the hunt and now stood close to Glorfindel, their features set in detached curiosity.</p><p>An Elf woman approached holding a pitcher which Legolas used to pour water in the vessel. "Life."</p><p>At the last word from the prince, Galan stepped forward and doused the flames. Legolas placed his right palm over his heart. The markings running down his neck stained his entire right side, arcane weavings on pale skin. They curled in shades of dark blue over his pectoral, along his ribs, snaking towards his hip bone. Like the others, he wore loose-fitting linen trousers, and a leather belt where the mithril sheath of his long knife rested. The prince reached inside the vessel and raised his fingers covered in the crimson paste, which he smeared in two lines across his bare chest.</p><p>Moments passed, and to Glorfindel, it seemed the Silvan Elves held their breath.</p><p>The prince looked down; the muscles in his jaw, arms, and chest tensed visibly. Closing his eyes, he tipped his head back, and when he looked to his people again, his pupils had widened so much his silvery gaze turned a deep, shadowed black.</p><p>"So, it enters the body through the skin," Elrohir whispered.</p><p>Legolas drew his weapon and sharply tapped the rim of the vessel with the hilt.</p><p>At the signal, the first Elf in the semi-circle to the left moved to stand before the prince; he bowed shortly before turning to the group.</p><p>"Brother, choose," Legolas said.</p><p>The Elf pointed to one other, who stepped forward. Both reached inside the vessel and raised their fingers coated in the paste which they smeared across the other's chest. They bowed to each other and regained their places.</p><p>Then followed the soldier who was his aide. She bowed as well and turned before the group.</p><p>"Sister, choose," the prince spoke.</p><p>She looked over her shoulder at him, and half-turning, pointed his way.</p><p>Legolas smiled and neared the other side of the metal container, taking from the <em>phuinē </em>and smearing two lines over her left cheek. They bowed, and the soldier reclaimed her place.</p><p>So followed the assignment of hunting partners until most had chosen and were marked. Glorfindel followed the display, lost in memories. He glanced at Tessarion, who, like the others, was watching the proceedings with unveiled interest. So much time had passed, and yet all was the same - the movements, the sequence, the lithe bodies ready to sprint as the <em>phuinē</em> took hold.</p><p>"Sister, choose," urged Legolas, his voice hoarse, deeper than before. Morwen stepped forward, the dark skin markings on her bare torso swaying like sorcery as she moved.</p><p>She stood before the gathering, her eyes flitting over those not yet marked. She cut eyes to Glorfindel, and a half-forgotten memory of her youth emerged. A meld of unease and excitement tempted her; so then, the hero of Gondolin had chosen to partake. She had not expected this turn, and Morwen eyed him from head to toe as another thought brimmed. There was no harm in a little competition, was there? Once, long ago, he'd found her - easily; let him try now.</p><p>The daughter of Thranduil pointed his way, adopting her most unbothered mien, pleased at the brief confusion passing over his features. But he rallied just as swiftly, and with sure steps came forward. His confidence irked her, as did the tight knot forming in her lower belly at the sight; he'd removed his cloak and tunic like the others, and her gaze strayed over the harmonious weave of muscle, sinew, and skin, like marble in the cold light of day. To Morwen, there was no perfection in the world - a state reserved to those of radiant, divine nature. But now she had to admit: this was as close as one could get. With some success, she mostly kept her eyes on his face.</p><p>When they stood facing each other, the vessel between them, Morwen caught the shade of a knowing smile.</p><p>"This was no contest, last I knew," Glorfindel said.</p><p>He had guessed her intent - all the better, to start on equal footing. Morwen raised her chin, the corners of her lips curling upward. She then dipped her hand inside the bowl, taking a considerable amount of <em>phuinē.</em></p><p>"Sister…" Legolas warned with narrowed eyes.</p><p>Morwen briefly glanced at Glorfindel before she reached and touched warm skin, spreading the <em>phuinē </em>over his chest.</p><p>Her chosen hunting partner looked down, his own hand grazing the bottom of the vessel. He paused for a breath, frowning, nostrils flaring, and when their eyes met again Morwen froze at the darkened gleam in his eyes. For a moment, she feared she had given him too much.</p><p>"The younger the Elf," Glorfindel said, tracing the red paste in a long line down her right arm, "... the stronger the effect."</p><p>Of course, she had forgotten. Then realization struck - he had done this before? His gaze turned blank and his hand fell to his side. The Elf-lord bowed to her, and Morwen hastily did the same before each resumed their places.</p><p>When the rite was done for all those choosing to be marked, Legolas came forward with his hunting partner at his side. He raised his arm. "Begin."</p><p>They sprang into the forest like fleeting shadows.</p><p>She ran, using the thick branches as leverage, instinct taking over. The weaved leather belt was soft, the sheath of her hunting knife hard against her hip.</p><p>Gusts of air tugged at her hair, cooled her heated skin. Warm beads gathered between her pointed breasts, trickling down her belly. Morwen sped ahead, sounds piercing her like arrows from every direction. Gradually, she attuned to it all - the heartbeat in every tree, the many voices of the wind, the flapping of wings and rustling in the underbrush. The rays of light streaking the forest bed split into myriads of colors, each hailing a distinct note. Perception of surface reality gave way like a snake sheds old skin, and Morwen fell into another dimension. She did not merely see colors anymore; she <em>heard</em> them. She drifted on wild, high-pitched yellow and lilting warm amber; bolted to the earthy cadence of low, deep browns and what remained of joyous green. Music rippled through her as the Elf delved deeper into the woods, the auras of all living things revealed and melding together, drifting on the primeval force that welcomed her and shared its vitality and strength.</p><p>The harsh bark of trees scraped her bare feet, a grounding of sorts; branches kissed her limbs with their dying leaves and she moaned in delight, tipped her head back and laughed at the skies hidden from sight, never ceasing her flight from bough to golden bough.</p><p>She felt the others running close or ahead of her, seeking their own release. She knew their scent, as they knew hers. The kill would be swift, merciful; blood would feed the earth.</p><p>The tangy, rich smell of soil filled her to the brim, weaving with the fresh sap of weeds and vines crawling eagerly up yielding trunks.</p><p>Another scent.</p><p>Morwen looked to her left, and caught a flash of gold. Heart thundering, she met his gaze. He was smiling as before, his hair wild behind him, his long body taut with each nimble leap. He was trailing her; this was a partnership, after all. His aura was unlike any she had known - a blaze of blinding white and flaming gold, the light of lands she had never seen. The reach of his unfettered fëa dazed her; an unfamiliar surge of need overwhelmed as his flare burned its way to her core and Morwen lost balance, redressing just barely. At that moment, as they watched each other in swift pursuit, she forgot all else; panting, she went faster, away from the pull that grazed her will and the sight of his flushed skin.</p><p>The drum of another life. Morwen skimmed their close surroundings, then glanced his way - he'd also sensed the deer and changed direction.</p><p>Morwen saw flashes of the animal and its dappled hide. <em>Have no fear. It will be swift.</em></p><p>She lunged; the mossy ground cooled the soles of her feet. At some distance, Glorfindel also descended to the forest floor. Her plan to best him reemerged and Morwen threw him a wicked smile - then burst ahead like a gale. With every breath, she channeled her thought and focus.</p><p>The deer was closer; she drew her knife, leaping high above bush and thicket. Nearly there...</p><p>The stench smote her like a physical blow.</p><p>The air left her lungs, and Morwen stopped short. A miasma of putrefaction shadowed her exaltation, the colors faded to muddled greys. The earth wailed beneath their heavy gait, miry shadows slicked around her like black oil. Malice, the need to twist and mangle.</p><p>
  <em>No.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Here?</em>
</p><p>The others were too far to warn without alerting the intruders. Morwen counted in her mind, counted the steps, their ragged breathing.</p><p>
  <em>Ten of them.</em>
</p><p>She looked behind her, but all was still, and she must have raced far ahead, for there was no sign of Glorfindel yet. Frantically, she wondered if there were others roaming unhindered so close to Elrond's refuge? Morwen leaped up the closest trunk and drew her hunting knife. Heart up her throat, she waited.</p><p>回 回 回</p><p>The galaxies turned above his head. A swift, filling stab of life, reaching through the self, down to bone and marrow. He'd not expected to be given so much, nor did he preempt her intent to outrun him, but the Elf achieved a steady focus, and there came a measure of freedom with it all. All and nothing - time bled into itself and was lost beyond the Veil; reality warped, colors trickling down a moving canvas. He felt every season of his life changing in rapid succession as past and present became one. He saw the white walls of Tirion, the green plains of Túna with their tall grasses tickling his sun-warmed skin. Valinor, resplendent in his youth. Lofty towers morphed into perilous ice shards, and the woes of the Grinding Ice swept by him. He saw Gondolin, heard the eagles cry above the Echoriath. Fire, smoke and steel, towers crumbling, and the abyss. The chords of memory bent and coiled outward as he struggled for control, seeking within. At last, his mind stilled as he glimpsed Morwen ahead, her hair a dark shadow trailing behind her, and Glorfindel grinned at the odd expression on her face earlier when she nearly tripped. <em>Hundreds of years, and you still flee. </em>He lost sight of her again. He was one with the air, the soft tendrils of his fëa mingling with the wilderness, soothing the animal they followed.</p><p>The reek of spoiled sweat assailed him; grunting, blades flashing, pierced flesh, rushing lifeblood.</p><p>Then he saw her.</p><p>Three of the creatures lay dead, but she was surrounded.</p><p>His feet struck the ground, and her eyes held relief when Morwen spotted him. Glorfindel nodded her way in swift understanding and sped forward, cutting his way through them to reach her.</p><p>He made quick work of one, splitting it from shoulder to hip then twisted the knife in his hand, sprang, and slashed another's neck with practiced ease.</p><p>Morwen sheared them down with well-aimed, savage strokes, her face and heaving chest sprayed with cold, black blood; her skin was sleek from the effort.</p><p>She found his gaze as another beast fell at her feet, its insides spilled onto the moss-covered ground. The stench of entrails filled the air.</p><p>Rising dust gleamed carelessly in the sparse shafts of light filtering through the branches; peace descended on the forest again.</p><p>They watched each other in silence, lost in the short, beatific relief following an unforeseen victory.</p><p>"Are you wounded?" Glorfindel asked, nearing her.</p><p>In a trance, Morwen shook her head. Unlike earlier, she no longer hid from the flare of his spirit; unlike earlier, she now craved its sheltering warmth with no trace of fear or remorse. Her gaze went to the controlled, rippling tension in his muscles as he leveled his breathing, then back to his face when Glorfindel stood before her. She raised a hand, uncertain; her forefinger touched his cheek, gliding across his heated skin to wipe away beads of black.</p><p>The moment shattered at a sudden stir. Her gaze snapped to the side to see two remaining foes, rising and stumbling through the underbrush.</p><p>Her knife flashed, embedded between one's shoulder blades. The beast crumpled to the forest bed as she ran in pursuit of the other.</p><p>"Wait!" Glorfindel called in her wake, already following.</p><p>Morwen took no heed but drew her weapon from the carcass of the fallen orc as she rushed after the last one; there came a surge of anger, like a tidal wave that would not break. With a hiss, her knife cut through tendons, and the beast fell to its knees with a howl.</p><p>Slowly, she circled her quarry. "This world is not yours." She took the creature by its scruff mane. "It will <em>never </em>be yours." She slashed at its face, and the orc spat and squirmed and grunted. A different sort of music, but the ghastly tune only spurred her bloodlust.</p><p>"Stand down." A hand was heavy on her shoulder.</p><p>Morwen jerked, shrugging away from his hold. This was her kill. <em>He</em> had no right. She glared, flicking the knife over in her hand, the blade dripping with dark, oily residue.</p><p>Glorfindel raised a warding palm, watching her. "Still yourself," he commanded, then slowly stepped before the orc, gripping his own weapon. "What were you seeking here?" he asked. "Are there others? Speak and your death will be swift. No more pain."</p><p>"Have you lost your wits? It's useless to treat with them!" Morwen hissed.</p><p>Glorfindel ignored her. The creature leered, blood dripping down its coarse leathers. A greenish foam bubbled at the corners of its chapped lips. It raised an arm, as though reaching for him, but the intent was abandoned.</p><p>"Speak!" Glorfindel shook the orc once, then rose to stand. Before the Elf-lord could say more, its head was rolling at his feet.</p><p>His gaze shot up to see Morwen going out of stance, a look of triumph on her face.</p><p>In one leap, he was before her. "What in Eru's name was that? I ordered you to yield!"</p><p>Morwen took an involuntary step back, gaping at him, lost for words at the reprimand. Then her lip curled, and she squared her shoulders. "I take no orders from you."</p><p>"Then how about using your head?" Glorfindel said through his teeth. "It could have given us useful insight."</p><p>His jaw was working, his eyes blazing despite his steady voice, and Morwen felt a sliver of remorse; she took a few breaths to soothe her nerves. "Release me, my lord."</p><p>Glorfindel blinked, only then noticing he'd grasped her wrist.</p><p>"Captain."</p><p>She started. Morwen turned her head, the battle of wills broken. Her eyes alighted on Galan.</p><p>She then looked beyond Glorfindel's shoulder, where others had found them and were casting troubled glances about the area.</p><p>Galan yet stood there, straight as a rod, his eyes on the grip Glorfindel still had on her wrist. His own hand was on the hilt of his hunting knife.</p><p>Morwen freed herself from his hold. "Where is my brother?" she asked her aide, walking away without sparing Glorfindel another glance.</p><p>Disbelief and disappointment quelled his mood. He forced himself to stifle the yet active <em>phuinē </em>wreaking havoc on his senses and Glorfindel merely stared after this foreign, seething fae, covered in orc blood and guts. <em>Who are you?</em></p><p>"So much for diplomacy," Elrohir's voice reached him as the sons of Elrond came to stand by his side.</p><p>Glorfindel sighed, shaking his head. "Gather the bodies."</p><p>回 回 回</p><p>After discovering the orc band infiltration, their goals had changed, and the hunt gained a different aim. They piled the carcasses to burn and combed through wood and glade, but found no sign of other enemy intrusions in the area close to Imladris. In the afternoon they retreated, with Glorfindel arranging another search to be carried in the morning.</p><p>"Nothing. No other bands," Legolas said, gazing into the flames. A breeze whistled through the glade, and they burned higher. "But the question is, why? Their pattern is to advance in clusters, even if tactics are changed."</p><p>Morwen threw a withered leaf in the fire and watched it shrivel to nothing. They both sat cross-legged, facing one of the great bonfires lit in a clearing close to the settlement. Hosts and allies communed around them.</p><p>"They barely have any wits. No direction other than the hand that drives them. I would not dwell on it," she said. "It's the world turned rotten," she added.</p><p>"Maybe so."</p><p>Morwen regarded her brother. "It's hard to imagine Mother lost her life in this very place." Frowning, she wetted her lips with a sip of dark wine. "It may have been a stronghold once, but now…"</p><p>"It has good wardens," Legolas said. "And pray it endures, else our own loss was for nothing."</p><p>"It endures better than us," Morwen retorted with a sad smile. "But not all is what it seems here."</p><p>A flute twirled in a far corner of the clearing, and they stopped to listen. "No, nothing ever is," her brother agreed. He smiled and raised his cup towards Galan, who responded in kind from his place. He drank, then looked at his cup. "What happened today in the forest, Morwen?"</p><p>Morwen stared at the cinders rising high in the air like rushing fireflies. "You've seen the aftermath. You've heard the report."</p><p>Legolas nodded slowly. "I have - very succinct. You happened upon them. Lord Glorfindel aided you."</p><p>"Lord Glorfindel aided me," Morwen repeated absently and gulped down her wine. She set the cup aside before half-heartedly rubbing at her wrist, lingering on the fading impression of tight wound, reined strength.</p><p>Legolas tipped his head to one side, watching her. "How fortunate there weren't many of them; all the more so, since you called for no one."</p><p>Her gaze cut to his. "I did not wait because it <em>could</em> not wait."</p><p>In the burning light, they seemed two carvings of the same mold; still, firelit statues wary of each other.</p><p>"What if no one had been close enough?" Legolas asked. His words held no chastisement. His face was open, his grey eyes darkened on hers; worried. "You never abandon caution on the field, I know this for a fact. What has changed, sister?"</p><p>"Will we start this now?" Morwen snapped.</p><p>Legolas placed a firm hand on her shoulder. "I want no dissent."</p><p>"My assessment was accurate," Morwen said in a more obliging tone. "Yes, I took a risk by assuming he'd reach me in time." Her gaze drifted ahead, to the steady hum of voices and music. She saw a group of Elves crossing the glade at leisure. Among them was Glorfindel; the Elf-lord's face was serene, and the firelight welcomed him in hues of golden red.</p><p>Legolas followed the point of her focus. He then searched her face. "That is not a look of gratitude." He drained his cup.</p><p>"You are so much like Father when you do this," his kin muttered.</p><p>The prince undid the top clasp of his collared shirt and leaned back on the cold meadow, resting on his elbows. "<em>This</em>?"</p><p>"Prying," Morwen threw another leaf into the flames. "Interrogating."</p><p>Legolas watched the darkness above them. "That is a strange thing to say."</p><p>"Because you two constantly argue over his policies?"</p><p>"Seclusion does us no good," Legolas murmured.</p><p>"But it kept us alive," she said. "Kept us fighting."</p><p>"I agree, you know I do. But is that all there is to it? Staying alive, ever retreating, hiding from the world." After the queen's untimely death, the Greenwood had all but closed its gates to other realms, unless matters of trade deemed it necessary to uphold relations.</p><p>"This is precisely how you'd speak before a quarrel," Morwen grinned, glancing his way again. She tapped her brother on the shoulder, her gaze losing its teasing light. Their eyes met. "He did well in sending you," she said.</p><p>"I wanted this," Legolas watched the skies again, half-drowned in the moon's light. "And so did you."</p><p>Morwen closed her eyes, the ill moments of the day falling from her mind. "I did."</p><p>"Please, be careful, sister," the prince said after a while. "We are far from home."</p><p>"Most would say that is a good turn," Morwen retorted, folding her knees at her chest.</p><p>Her brother sighed, smiling at the stars. "Yes, most would."</p><p>回 回 回</p><p>Glorfindel waded through groups of strangers and acquaintances, thinking of all and nothing. The remains of the day clung to him like ragged shadows, drowning any festive mood. He saw the Silvan prince, seated close to one bonfire, his legs crossed beneath him, his face lit crimson by the flames. An Elf woman - the one who was his aide and hunting partner that day, was at his side.</p><p>Elrond and his lady Celebrían had chosen not to partake, having briefly joined to greet the Mirkwood siblings before retiring for the night. Their sons had stayed for the event instead, and were now speaking with the captain Tessarion and a group of Wood-elves, Morwen's aide among them.</p><p>Glorfindel propped himself against an obliging tree, and focused on dispelling the lingering unrest caused by the events during the hunt, and his own vexation; he failed, and bent towards a pitcher near his feet to refill his drink.</p><p>As evening gave way to night, the figures swaying around the bonfires became livelier. Revelers were closer, touches were bolder. They seemed one with the flames that lit their abandon, shimmering off their unbound hair. Some, who were consorts, had retreated into the shadows.</p><p>Glorfindel lifted his drink in salute to Legolas before turning back to Elladan, who had joined him in the meantime.</p><p>"They grow bolder," the dark-haired Elf was saying, referring to the stray orcs they happened upon during the hunt. "I can think of no other reason."</p><p>Glorfindel regarded the merrymakers with a dispassionate glance. "And if there is another reason, we will never know," he said. There had not been orcs spotted so close to the vale in hundreds of years.</p><p>"I admit, after today, I have trouble deciding if I denounce the methods of our Mirkwood brethren. I'd be lying if I said their impetus does not bring a certain… flavor."</p><p>"Thranduil's methods are lacking," Glorfindel said, somewhat displeased at the sting of his own thoughts. "But it seems he had no qualms in teaching them to his children."</p><p>Elladan studied his wine, fingers circling the rim of the cup. "Forgive me, but that is not all that's lacking. You're all but made of patience, usually." A grin cut across his angular face. "But today, you looked on the brink of losing your temper. What, I wonder, has finally achieved one such impossible task?"</p><p>"Not now, Elrondion," Glorfindel said tiredly, taking another long sip of ruby wine.</p><p>A short peal of laughter rang not far from them. The Elf-lord turned his head; his fingers jerked on his cup. Clad in a light sheath and barefooted, she was entertaining a Wood-elf of her company some distance ahead. His eyes flickered away from the daughter of Thranduil.</p><p>"My apologies," said Elladan, not looking apologetic in the least. "Alas, there is my brother." He clamped Glorfindel on the shoulder. "Join us?"</p><p>Glorfindel shook his head.</p><p>"Then, I leave you for now. But school your face into some joy, my lord. This is still a celebration."</p><p>Glorfindel smiled but remained silent as the son of Elrond departed. Elladan had the right of it, of course. It was difficult to unhinge and rouse him, matters of war and strategy notwithstanding - even the most unruly subordinates were given chances aplenty to atone for their mistakes. His face soured in distaste, but Glorfindel caught himself. He drank what remained of his wine, swallowed and bared his teeth. Warmth coursed through him, stirring his blood. He regarded the empty cup with a critical eye. Considering the amount he had all evening, he expected the potent vintage might get to his head, as rarely happened.</p><p>Somewhere to his right, Morwen had ended her conversation with the unknown Elf; their eyes met.</p><p>He ought to leave it be - it was the wiser choice. Even from this distance in the meld of lights and darkness, he saw the heaving of her chest and the flush in her cheeks. Glorfindel set down his cup. He had thought to retire, but then his feet were moving, and he was striding forward. To her.</p><p>Gaze unreadable, he stopped before the daughter of Thranduil, greeting her with a nod.</p><p>Her state of abandonment dispersed like scribbles in the sand, her manner turned churlish. It came as no surprise. <em>A child. No, an adult</em>, Glorfindel corrected himself. An adult, stifled by the limits of their own perception.</p><p>"You're enjoying yourself," he said flatly.</p><p>"All must honor the cleansing after the hunt. It is our way." Her words held a shade of civility.</p><p>"Then honor it we will," his arm slipped around her waist. At any other time, he would have asked a potential dancing partner for permission, would have gallantly brought them in. Her small gasp of surprise gratified him in a way that was both new and strange.</p><p>"What do you seek, Lord Glorfindel?" Morwen asked, her voice rather breathless, her palms pushing lightly against his chest.</p><p>"To dance, naturally," he said with a disarming, boyish grin, at odds with his demanding grip. He was not gentle.</p><p>Morwen frowned. Her gaze went to her hands. Her fingers pressed into his fine green tunic, the material warmed from his skin. She watched him warily as Glorfindel brought her palm to rest on his shoulder. "I thought perhaps you had strayed here by mistake; or to look down your nose on us Wood-elves and our barbaric ways."</p><p>"I've seen true barbarism," Glorfindel said. "You are blessed to not have walked the wilds of Beleriand. But what you lack, if I may-"</p><p>"You may not."</p><p>Glorfindel briefly glanced to their left at the other revelers, then back at her. "If I may," he repeated, "more discipline would do us both a world of good if we are to work together."</p><p>Morwen said nothing, following his lead, her gaze set behind him. He wore his hair unbraided, and a few bright strands ghosted her cheek like fragrant silk. It brought forth the shade of a recollection; stark blue irises drowned in black, his scent beneath the stench of orc blood, and the compulsive need to clear it from his skin. Morwen fought the irrational urge to lean closer.</p><p>"I practice the courtesy of looking you in the eye, captain."</p><p>Morwen snorted. Why must he plague her so? "Courtesies I can do without," she muttered. "And there is no binding obligation for us to entertain each other outside the spheres of duty. Now please, tell me what you want?"</p><p>They drifted beneath the trees that fringed the glade, the fires behind them. A round moon had crept across the sky.</p><p>Glorfindel led her in a slow sway to the dimming music. "Morwen." His voice gained the tired edge from before. "My manner bothers you, I've noticed. But I take to being forthright when I see failings, out of respect for both parties involved."</p><p>Her head tipped back in a scoff of mirth.</p><p>"And it escapes me," Glorfindel followed, "why returning the same is a challenge to others."</p><p>"No need to beat at the saddle, lord Glorfindel," she said. "The horse understands."</p><p>The murmurs and revelry dimmed, lost to the night, farther away now.</p><p>"Call me impressed," he said silkily after a pause, "but as comparisons go, I certainly think higher of you than that. Though most well-kept horses obey their betters."</p><p>He caught her palm before it struck him, fielding her fury with a wintry smile. It was unbecoming, shameful even to feel so pleased at getting a rise out of her - but he enjoyed it nonetheless. His fingers curled around hers briefly before Glorfindel released her altogether and stepped back. "If you want to lead, then learn to follow. Your own instant gratification is forfeit when lives depend on your decisions."</p><p>"So that's the matter," Morwen snapped. "The filth would have told you nothing. What do you remember of the Greenwood, my lord?" she asked. "What do you know of our struggles, dwelling here safely in your secure little hiding place?" she smirked into his blank stare. "Though not so safe now, is it?"</p><p>Glorfindel closed his eyes. "Where does this pettiness come from, I wonder? No," he continued. "I think I know," the Elf shook his head. "Keep your divisive views, if they define you. But I'll only say this once and I will do it now, to spare your pride as I see how much it means to you." He looked at her for one moment. "Next time you disobey a direct order, for all your skill I will have you relegated to the lowest rank for the upcoming battle. You'll be stationed to hold camp and mind the supplies, far from enemy lines."</p><p>Speechless for a breath, Morwen remembered herself enough to hold her stance. "You don't have the authority," she countered feebly, cowed by his tone despite herself, suddenly cornered as she watched every line, every change in his expression.</p><p>His smile was sweet, but never reached his eyes. "Would you have me prove it?"</p><p>Morwen opened her mouth, then closed it. A heavy weariness settled in her bones when Glorfindel turned his back on her.</p><p>"Once," he said over his shoulder, before walking away.</p><p>She could barely stand, let alone move; for the unguessed power of his words, and the rebuke that turned her feet to stone. For the damnable weakness at his closeness, and the visions still roiling in her mind. All thought of revelry died. Strips of moonlight layered her features as Morwen stood trapped, following his retreat until he disappeared from sight.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Just a little reminder, not doing this alone! This is a collaborative effort with the same awesome Tobiramamara. This is how it goes: we both use the same outline of events, main canon characters, and OC. We follow the same plotline, but our stories will each have a different direction and, ultimately, ending. Just thought it would be a fun project to see where we each go with the same story. Be sure to follow that version too, if interested to join our ride!</p><p>The twin story to this is: 'Amarth - Rising' by Tobiramamara.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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